


summer sun, something’s begun

by carryyourownbanner



Series: sprace one-shots [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, i’m in california so so are they, lifeguard spot, swim teacher race
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryyourownbanner/pseuds/carryyourownbanner
Summary: spot and race meet because of separate summer jobs at the same valencia community pool. race becomes more soft for spot than intended, and it’s probably mutual.(originally posted on the newsies amino by yours truly)title’s from grease, sue meanyway this came to me while I was at my cousin’s swim practice soi hope you enjoy?





	summer sun, something’s begun

It’s a routine, almost.

Not almost. It is, but there’s always something different that changes it up, makes it different. Not exciting, not always, but different. This isn’t always bad; monotony is tedious for a person like Race, but too much change is jarring for anyone. It’s not quite the perfect pace, his summer job teaching kids to swim at the neighborhood pool, because there’s always the same words- butterfly, backstroke, twenty-five, fifty, you’re going a bit to the left, you’re doing just fine. The kids love him, though, for whatever reason.

“Racer! Did you see that?”

He hadn’t (whoops) but he nods at the kid- Lilli, she’s four, a great swimmer, not so great at enunciating, but he’s learned to understand her- and to understand little kids in general, really.

“Yeah, I did. You think you’re gonna go off the diving board today after all the lessons are over?”

She shakes her head firmly. “No.”

“Come on. It’s not scary at all- look, I’ll even hang around after they take the lanes down. And I’m sure your mom’ll catch you when she swings by.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re, like- a whole fifteen feet tall.”

“Give or take,” he says, chuckling.

“Fifteen feet?” another kid, a boy of about six, gapes. “My house isn’t even that tall.”

“I don’t know, Finn, houses are pretty tall.”

“Taller than you?”

“Taller than me.”

“Racer,” another high-pitched little voice drones. “What time is it?”

He checks his watch. “2:54. Do one more freestyle fifty, here and back, and you’re free to go.”

During the summer, he teaches twice on weekdays and once on Saturdays- 11 to 12 and 2 to 3 and then only the latter. He loves the kids, don’t get it wrong. They always have something unexpected to say, or some strange stories to tell that are 110% not true which he laughs at anyway. 

But he still works by the clock.

And somehow, he knows everyone here- it is a neighborhood pool and he is quite sociable; not to mention that the California sun gets hot and he sees many of them every day come summertime. It’s an up and coming sort of place, so you’ve got parents and young kids and, rarely, people his age. The lifeguards, for example- like the one they have for the first shift, Sarah, who’s on duty right now. Yesterday had been the second shift guard’s last day. Vacation, or whatever. It didn’t matter, because they’d found another guy pretty easily, apparently.

So Race waits. It’s something different, isn’t it?

He spends time with Joey, one of the other instructors, until she has another set of kids- at four- which Race doesn’t have to worry about. He sits on his phone for well over an hour, not having anything better to do- sitting by the pool’s infinitely better than sitting at home now that everyone’s busy with their own work all the time.

And, what can he say, he’s more than a little intrigued by this new lifeguard he’s yet to meet.

Sarah’s shift ends and she leaves him with a high five and a ridiculous “hang loose” hand motion. She says something about a date- Race just grins airily and goes back to scrolling mindlessly.

Is he really so taken by a guy he’s never met? His foot’s bouncing. Sure, he’s hyperactive, it’s normal. But the way he’s playing with his curls isn’t.

But, god, the way he tugs at them when he sees Mike’s replacement.

Short, but muscled, he’s Race’s exact type. The type he’s been defining for years- but it’s all a waste when he lays eyes on him. That’s it. It doesn’t get any better than that jawline.

But then he waves at someone Race supposes he knows and smiles, and that’s it. He’s lofty and air-headed, and he can’t take his eyes off of him- fortunately, he’s wearing sunglasses. He’s got the sweetest tooth gap, and the prettiest grin- Race puts a towel in his lap with a facade of nonchalance.

So, it does get better than the jawline.

The 45 minutes he has to wait until the first break- where everyone 16 and under has to get our for a minute- is the longest 45 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Fortunately, it does end eventually.

He blows the whistle and calls break, and, once all the kids around out, he throws a towel over his shoulder and makes his way over to Race- or, at least, the shaded area with tables, where Race happens to be. 

Race takes off his sunglasses to seem more approachable.

He catches his eye once, twice, on the way over- whatever he did, it worked. He sits down at the same table after Race nods consent.

“You the new guy?”

“Not exactly.”

Race tilts his head. “I work here and I’ve never seen you around.”

“Between you and me- you a... swim teacher?-“ Race nods. “-I usually come in here when it’s late. You’d never know it, but that camera doesn’t work worth a shit.”

“I didn’t know that. So you swim after hours?”

“Yep. And now I’ve got a key, so I don’t have to work my way through those bars behind those agaves over there.”

Race turns to look at the plants he’s familiar with, and nods slowly. “Never actually looked behind there. Is it easy?”

“Fairly.”

“Couldn’t help but notice your stature. ‘S that key to sneaking in?”

“I think that’s part of it, but you could get in. ‘S just- new house is right there next to this place. So the fence is right next to the side of my house.”

“You sure the camera doesn’t work?”

“Never been caught before.”

Race grins. “Good logic. Can I get a name?”

“Sean,” he says and holds out a hand for a handshake. Civil. He likes.

“Antonio,” he says, taking his hand and shaking it. “You won’t hear many people call me that around here. Or Tony, for that matter. Far as these folks are concerned, I’m Race. Racetrack.”

“Track team champion?”

“Horse girl.”

The corner of Sean’s mouth twitches into a smile briefly. 

“Funny boy.”

“I try, thanks. But really- it’s the horse races, not foot races.”

“Like up in Santa Anita?”

“Wherever. I’ve been up thereabout, though.”

“You a jockey or something?”

“Not exactly,” he says, mimicking Sean’s first words to him and he laughs quietly. “I mostly help with retired racehorses at rural places. It’s quite a drive but once I get out in the desert- what can I say, I’m a speed junkie.”

“I think I’m picking up on that. Well, if everyone’s on a nickname basis here, I suppose you can call me Spot.”

“Spot?”

“I wouldn’t take that tone. You do walk around calling yourself Racetrack, after all.”

“Fair point. Whatever, Spot’s good. Care to explain it?”

“Birthmark. Several, actually. On my arm, here, you see?” he says, and shows Race his forearm. 

“I can barely see them.”

“They were easier to see when I was younger. They’ve faded with time, but nicknames like Spot stick.”

“I can imagine,” he says, nodding, and, feigning ignorance- “How long until break’s over?”

“Ten minutes, now, give or take. Why?”

“Just checking. I’m done for the day, myself.”

“And you’re still here?”

“Yeah. Finished an hour or so ago- not much else to do.”

“Sitting at home’s gotta be better than this.”

“Debatable.”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“I stay until closing, usually. Run home to get something to eat between now and then.”

“Makes sense. I was wondering what I was gonna do- not like I can do that, even living right next door.”

“I can bring you something, if you’d like.”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks, ‘Tonio. That’s... really helpful.”

It’s the first time- surprisingly- anyone’s given him that nickname, and he blinks with short-lived surprise. “No problem.”

Spot checks his watch again and shrugs at Race. “Gotta let the gremlins get back in. Talk to you later, ‘Tonio?”

And he’s blushing.

This time around he watches him, smiling at him when their eyes meet- he thinks, anyway, as Spot’s got his sunglasses on as well. He doesn’t imagine he’s smiling at anyone else.

When he leaves to get leftovers from home he waves flirtatiously and gets a grin in return.

All clear, then.

This should be fun.

 

 

“You always lived in LA?”

“Nope. Born in Queens,” he says, and at Spot’s furrowed brows, explains- “My dad passed away when I was three, and my mom had family out here. It was easier than buying a new place here or there or anywhere in between. She managed to get a place a few years ago, and I still live with her. It’s easier for both of us.”

It’s gotten less crowded and thus quieter as it’s gotten later, and it’s quite nice.

“Your mother, too?”

“She’s not doing too well.”

Spot nods, taking a bite of the microwaved slice of pizza. “Sorry to hear that. My old man left me a bit of money- ‘s all he gave me. Used it to move out here as soon as I could- love it.”

“Can’t beat it. You been to the pier, yet? Santa Monica?”

“Nope.”

“Would you like to?”

Spot looks at him. “You asking me on a date, ‘Tonio?”

“Depends; would you like me to be? I don’t have much, but what Santa Monica has is better than leftover pizza.”

“Couldn’t hurt. You’re bold, though.”

“How so?”

“You didn’t even know I swing that way.”

“Can’t begin every conversation with ‘how’s it going, do you like dudes or..?’”

He snorts. “Fair enough.”

“And, anyway- I guessed right, didn’t I?”

“Yep. Gay.”

“Same. How long’ve you known?”

“Long time, that’s all I know. You?”

“You know how fifth graders ‘date’? Well, the boys tried to set me up with Crystal Green, school pretty-girl, I guess, whatever that means in fifth grade, and I figured it out pretty soon that there was nothing about her that made me even want to fake-date her. Friend told me I was gay if I didn’t wanna date girls, all secret-like- I came home that night and told my mom. Should’ve seen the look on her face.”

“She’s like that?”

“Nah. I just said it like it was something to be scared of, because that’s how my friend told me about it- she told me a few years later when I asked about it that I sounded like I was telling her I killed somebody. Broke her heart, apparently.”

“Aw. Was gonna say, you seem far too chipper to come from a background like that.”

Race smiles. “What about you? You got any family?”

“Nope. Mama’s been dead since- god, I can’t even remember her.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It’s whatever. Nineteen years ago, give or take. All that matters to me at the moment is when we’re meeting at the Pier.”

“Smooth.”

“I do try.”

“Hey, before we go tonight, you’ve gotta show me how to sneak in. I’m such an insomniac. But- is Sunday good? You don’t work Sunday, right?”

“No, and that works. What time? And I can do that for you once everyone gets out of here.”

“Figure we can leave at ten?”

“Works for me. I’m an early riser.”

“Good to know,” Race says with a wink. “Here, can I have your number?” He gets out his phone.

Spot smiles and recites it easily, and Race enters it in, and adds the contact name- just Spot. It’s really cute, actually.

“Figure I should know your last name, too.”

“Conlon.”

“Irish, I’m guessing?”

“Good guess. Yep. And yours, Race?”

“Higgins.”

“Is that- gonna have to forgive me, but what’s the from?”

“Not really anywhere. My dad’s last name was Bianci, and he changed it when he got here because he thought ‘Higgins’ sounded better. I’m pretty behind that, honestly. Otherwise, I’d be Antonio Giovanni Bianci, which is decidedly-“

“-the most Italian name anyone’s ever heard?”

“Yep. You didn’t get Italian from Antonio?”

“Nah. You don’t look it- you look Swedish or something. Blonde hair, blue eyes.”

“Get it from my mom.”

“Cute.”

“You better hurry up and eat that- you gotta let them swim again pretty soon.”

“Unfortunately.”

“This the last one?”

“Yeah. So- another thirty-ish minutes before close.”

“Mind hanging for a bit after?”

“Not at all, ‘Tonio.”

He can see something coming of this. Call him optimistic, if you will- but he’s been alone for a while, and wouldn’t mind a summer lover. If it never ends or his heart breaks at the end of it- it’ll be worth it.

 

 

Race doesn’t come in until he has to on Saturday- so he catches Spot in the afternoon once he’s done with the kids. Spot’s a terrible flirt, he finds- but it’s sweet that he tries. The things he says- they’re not like what he’s heard before, and it’s nice.

Once Sunday morning comes around Race picks up Spot and they drive to the pier. Race lets Spot take the aux cord- he plays exclusively Queen and satire songs. Race sings along to every one of them, and after a minute, Spot joins in.

The pier’s wonderful. The line for the Ferris wheel was too long and neither of them had the patience to wait, but the cotton candy Spot insists on buying for him leaves a sweet taste in his mouth for the rest of the day. 

After a bit of convincing, Spot lets Race take him down to the beach. Spot picks up any shell that shines, just like a crow, and Race carries some for him. 

“You getting hungry?”

“A little. That hot dog wasn’t very sustaining. Nothing like Coney.”

“How’s In n’ Out sound?”

“Easy. Amazing. Thanks, ‘Tonio.”

He can’t believe his ears when Spot invites him over “dinner” to come over and watch a movie- he just smiles. “Sounds wonderful. What do you got in mind?”

“What sorta stuff do you like?”

“Anything. Long as it’s gotta non-cliché set-up, though.”

“How about Ragnarok?” 

“I haven’t seen that yet, actually.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“‘Tonio, you have to.”

The drive back to Spot’s is a long one- an hour, give or take. It takes them an hour and a half to get inside, however- once Race has the car in park, Spot reaches over the glovebox and, with a telling glimpse at his lips, asks silent permission, which Race eagerly gives.

A nearby car alarm goes off and breaks them out of their chaste reverie. They get inside and- miraculously- the movie actually gets played. Spot lets Race lean against him, and they trade kisses throughout- it’s still wonderfully chaste despite the perfect mood and, shockingly, Race loves it. 

After the credits roll and the end credits play, both of them are sleepy- it’s only ten. So Race lingers, and Spot seems content.

“You like Marvel?” he asks.

“Yeah... yeah, lots. Like how it’s not super- uh- serious all the time.”

“You’re tired,” he guesses. “You wanna head home? Or I can crash on the couch if you wanna stay the night.”

Race looks at him, unblinking. 

“Yeah. That sounds wonderful... are you sure, though? I can definitely sleep on the couch.”

“No, it’s fine, I promise. And if you’re hungry, help yourself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spot leaves for his bedroom and returns wearing pajama bottoms and carrying a pillow, a blanket, and a t-shirt- oh.

“Figure all my pants’ll be too short for you, but here’s a shirt if that’s more comfortable.”

Race walks to him, takes it, and after a beat of silent hesitation, kisses his cheek. “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.”

Perhaps it’s just the television light, but Spot seems to flush pink at that. 

“‘Night, ‘Tonio.”

“See you tomorrow.”

And Race finds himself falling asleep easily in the foreign bed in a foreign t-shirt; he’s loving this rush, but he never expected this. He’d expected either Spot to be with him tonight or for him to be at home waiting on a goodnight text. 

Truthfully, he prefers this.

He prefers “‘Tonio” to Race, now.

He prefers sleeping in Spot’s shirt, rather than with him, so soon.

And he /loves/ innocent kisses in the front seat of his Nissan Maxima.

He wonders if he’s been looking in all the wrong places, and picking up all the wrong guys. He’d never once considered love before and now, he wonders if, with time, he could fall in love with someone like Spot. And he decides so easily that perhaps he’d like to, and that maybe someday he just might.

It’s not like him, almost.

Not almost. It isn’t. But when did he ever have anything against change?


End file.
